


Haven

by Greyias



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, F/M, Introspection, Light Angst, My First Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 17:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17207936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: Maybe she should stop him. Slow things down. Ask him what’s going on in his head instead of letting him distract her.





	Haven

Theron Shan never does anything in half measures. He always throws everything of himself into all he does. Whether it’s a late night session spent in front of a data terminal, slicing through and picking apart Zakuul’s latest security protocols, endless recruiting missions, coordinating supplies and support for the Alliance’s war efforts—he approaches everything with a single-minded intensity that almost guarantees he will get the results he wants.

It really shouldn’t be a surprise then that Theron brings that fervor and focus into _other_ things as well. 

It should not take her off guard—after all, they had already shared a bed together once before on Yavin. But that had been Grey’s first time, and much of it had felt like a rush. Every sensation new and different and wonderful. She has no other lovers to compare to, and she is not even sure she would want to. In retrospect their first time had been sweet. Almost innocent in a way. He’d been focused then, but it was… different now.

Perhaps the five years that had separated them had changed him, tempered him in a way she still hadn’t quite figured out. On Yavin, his touch had been eager, as if he was discovering something new and fresh and exciting. Now his hands are desperate, rough callouses brushing and smoothing across the open expanse of her skin. They linger on the rough scar tissue on her belly and back, his amber gaze darkening to an inscrutable, stormy expression every time he sees it. Sometimes it’s only a few moments, sometimes it’s much longer, before suddenly his lips are crashing into hers with such intensity and fervor she can’t help but wonder what drives it.

Maybe she should stop him. Slow things down. Ask him what’s going on in his head instead of letting him distract her. But she _likes_ the frenetic energy, the movement. Prefers it to the lull that settles in when he’s not here.

A Jedi should always know what to do in stillness. Contemplate. Reflect. Reconnect. At least, that’s how the teachings go. A long time ago, that made sense. It used to be easy for her to fall into that mode, morning fasts and meditation on the slow days, thoughts turned inward as she opened herself up to the Force. She was her own refuge, forged and formed by her training and the hardships she’d fought through.

But that was before.

Before Ziost. Before Zakuul. Before Valkorion had invaded her mind again. Where the silence and stillness had once been hers alone, the intruder now stalks its corridors. His malevolence drowns out the echoes of just her and the Force. If she gives in to too much contemplation, too much reflection, then her defenses might relax — and she already knows what happens if she gives that evil in her mind the slightest opening.

So she focuses on the physical. The here and now. She focuses on Theron. And let’s herself get lost in him. In the way his lips travel across her skin and his teeth graze against the hollow of her throat. How his weight presses her against the mattress, again and again. She happily loses herself to the warmth of his chest brushing against hers and the low, deep noises that escape him as he moves inside of her. On the bright, silvery feeling deep in her belly as his thumb descends to the place where they’re joined and begins rubbing in a counter motion to the rhythm they’ve built up. She lets every sensation sweep over her until it’s builds up into such a crescendo she can’t help but get pulled under like she's caught in an inescapable under-toe.

And even when it’s over, there’s still no room for anyone else but him. As the stars fade from her vision, the first she thing she sees is the way the corners of his eyes crinkle as a lazy, contented smile stretches across his face. Only feels the dampness of his sweat-soaked skin as she curls against him, the absent, lazy stroking of his fingers carding through the loose strands of her hair. The ever-present chill of Valkorion trying to twist around her spine is chased away by Theron’s blazing warmth.

There’s a part of her that knows this is wrong.

Not the sex itself. Nor even her choosing to engage in a relationship despite all of the warnings she received over and over about the dangers of getting too emotional. Getting too attached. No, the ones who preached that are no longer with her, their detachment didn’t save them in the end from the endless onslaught of Zakuul. What’s wrong is how she throws every piece of herself into this, letting it consume her. The way even now she clings to Theron, as if he’s some sort of anchor to her reality, and if she were to relax her grip even once she’ll spiral off into oblivion.

It’s not true, and she won’t. She knows that. She’s not stupid — but some part of her wonders if the fact that she finds such solace in him, in the way he focuses on her so completely when they’re alone, means she’s somehow debasing this. Using the way he feels for her as some sort of shield, instead of just accepting it all for what it is.

“Hey,” his voice is muffled by the act of him pressing a soft kiss to her hair, “what’s wrong?”

His words shake her from her reverie and she realizes that she’s been quiet for too long, and the way his fingers have wrapped around hers let her know that she’s been holding on to him too tightly. She swallows, not sure how to answer. Not with the specter hovering at the edge of her mind, waiting for any weakness he can latch on and use against her later. However she can’t bear the thought of being dishonest with Theron either. 

So she compromises and gently extricates a hand so she can deliberately trace the shell of her ear with her thumb. It is a signal they had come up with together back during the Revanite crisis to communicate that intel needed to be shared but there was the possibility of being overheard. Back then she’d enjoyed the thrill of the spy games he loved to play — now she leans on them to try and be honest. The irony is not lost on her.

A frown steals across his face as the gesture registers. He brushes his hand across her cheek, brow furrowing as if he’s trying to puzzle out the hidden meaning without her even saying anything. Whenever the subject of the ghost in her head comes up, he always becomes so serious — as if it’s some sort of personal mission of his to save her from it. A warmth of a different sort blossoms in her chest, squeezing like a vice.

“I was just thinking,” she says after a long period of silence, “how much I enjoy your company since you've arrived on Odessen. And how my nights are much quieter when you’re around.”

His eyes are sharp now, focused. She can practically see the gears in his head turning, trying to connect her words with the deeper meaning about Valkorion that she dare not say aloud. She almost wants to take it back as his brows draw up in an almost confused expression, clearly not understanding her issue.

“Really? You call that quiet?” One eyebrow arches higher. “Maybe I need to work on my technique.”

“No—what I meant was… oh, stars. Forget I said anything.”

The chill is already starting to settle in the base of her spine, an indication that the slumbering interloper in her mind is beginning to perk up. Beginning to listen. She’s about to roll over and try and block it all out when Theron grabs her shoulder and she reluctantly returns her gaze to his. It’s not mocking or light at all. His expression is intense, as if it’s important that she knows he’s listening. Trying to understand even though she’s horrible at this spy double-speak and just muddies the waters between them further.

“Is it a good quiet?” he asks softly.

She feels something stinging behind her eyes as she nods, tries to shove the emotion away but it lingers uncomfortably as Theron continues to look at her intently. She distracts herself by trying to finish what she had meant to say. “What I meant is… I worry that I’m monopolizing you. Your time that is.”

His lips press together, brows still drawn together in concern. “You’re not.”

“I know, I just… I'm not sure if it’s right of me to use your nights in such a way. Despite the _eventual_ quiet it brings.”

He finally connects the dots, despite her horrible, stuttered excuse for an explanation. His eyes widen ever so slightly in understanding, the intense expression melting away into something soft and almost vulnerable. It makes her want to pull him close and never let him go, as impractical as that is. 

He tugs her in for a soft, lingering kiss full of an emotion she can’t quite put a shape to in her mind, but she understands the meaning behind all the same. When he pulls away, he makes sure she’s looking him straight in the eye.

“Do you remember what I said the night of the party? When we first got back together?” His gaze doesn’t waver in the slightest. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you keep everything going here.”

“I know, but—”

“And if spending my nights with you somehow drowns out anything else—” ‘ _or anyone else_ ’ his gaze tells her “—bothering you? More than happy to do it.”

She hesitates. “If you’re sure…”

“As far as I can see, it’s a win-win.”

“Because I would never want you to feel as if I take you or your company for granted.”

He lets out a low chuckle, his hand descending back down to her hip as he leans in closer. “Trust me, it’s my pleasure.”


End file.
